


Grief Shared

by Sinelaborenihil



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinelaborenihil/pseuds/Sinelaborenihil
Summary: Fenris finally returns to Kirkwall and has a meeting with Viscount Tethras about the loss of their mutual friend.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Kudos: 24





	Grief Shared

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Here Lies the Abyss and the end of DAI & Trespasser 
> 
> Written in response to the 11/14/20 Dragon Age Subreddit Writing Prompt 4 "And for the first time, I prayed to a god I didn't even believe in."

The viscount’s keep felt smaller than Fenris remembered it being. Or maybe there were just more people in it now than before. Viscount Tethras was very popular, from what he understood. He did not ask to be announced, did not bow and scrape. He simply waited. After several hours he heard the familiar voice. 

“Are they gone?” Varric sounded wearier than Fenris could ever remember hearing him. 

“There is one more, your Grace. An elf, with... tattoos.” 

And then Varric was hurrying over, his kind eyes sad. He was considerably grayer around the temples than he had once been and his waist was thicker than Fenris remembered. The crows feet that had always been in the corners of the good-tempered dwarf’s eyes were much deeper, though Fenris suspected it had less to do with laughter than worry and sadness. 

“Fenris!” Varric said, extending his hand. 

Fenris hesitated and saw his former friend’s shoulders droop. He caught Varric’s hand before it could fall away completely and shook it once. “We need to talk.” 

Varric nodded. “Come on, Broody,” he said, indicating towards a plain pair of doors. “Let's let Bran get to bed and we can catch up.” 

Fenris let the dwarf lead him back into a comfortable suite of rooms, where Varric poured wine for them both. 

The dwarf sank down into an overstuffed chair and took a deep breath. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead.” 

Fenris took a sip of his wine, doing his best to bring his emotions under control. He had been prepared to tear into Varric. He’d worked himself up into quite a lather, as Isabela would have said, during the ride down to Kirkwall from Tevinter. 

But he saw in Varric’s eyes that the burden of grief was not his alone and something jagged inside of him smoothed just a fraction. 

“How did it happen?” he asked after a moment. “Your letter only said that she died a hero, Varric. You _promised_ me that you would keep her _safe._ ” 

Varric flinched and set his glass on the end table next to him. “The Wardens were binding demons using blood magic,” he said without his usual dramatic flair. “They were going to help Corypheus open a rift and bring through a monstrous demon of Nightmares and summon a demon army.” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow at that and nodded for Varric to continue. 

“I couldn’t write the details down, not with Corypheus still at large and the Inquisition still going. But now...now with it disbanded and Corypheus dead, well, we have bigger problems.” 

“The Dread Wolf,” Fenris said, nodding. “I have been hearing things. Whispers. I mean to find him.” 

“I’m not shocked to hear it,” Varric said. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him. Or, you know,” he reached out and made a grabbing motion. “Stop him from breaking the world.” He sighed. “I’m stalling. I never wanted to retell this story. But I know that you need to hear it from me.” 

Fenris nodded. 

“We were at Adamant, an old Warden Fortress in the Western Approach, to bring an end to the plot to summon a demon army when Corypheus summoned his...archdemon? Dragon? I don’t know. It looked like a dragon. Warden Commander Clarel sacrificed herself to stop the magister behind the whole Maker-forsaken mess, but the end result was the section of wall we were on collapsing. I thought for sure we were going to die.” He shook his head. “And then the Inquisitor, she opened a rift and dropped us into the realm of the very thing that Corypheus was prepared to summon.” 

He shuddered. “A dwarf in the Fade. My ancestors would throw a fit.” 

In another lifetime, Fenris would have asked what it was like. But in that moment he didn’t care. He just wanted to know how she had died. He had to know. 

“We fought our way through with the help of a spirit that took on the form of Divine Justinia and we were so close, Fenris. We were so close to escaping when the Aspect of the Nightmare and the Nightmare itself...they got between us and the way out.” He closed his eyes and when he spoke next his voice was rough. “The Warden Stroud, you remember Stroud, he offered to stay.” Varric looked up at him, and there were tears in his kind eyes. They began to trickle down his face as he made a visible effort to speak. “But so did Hawke.” His powerful hands clenched into fists. “The Inquisitor chose Hawke.” 

“And you let-” 

“There wasn’t time!” Varric snapped. “She bolted off towards the monsters. And we...we escaped.” He let out a choked sob. “Her last words were asking you to forgive her, for whatever that’s worth.” 

Fenris felt the dampness on his own cheeks as he sank into the chair opposite Varric, staring blankly into the fire. 

“I confronted the Inquisitor afterwards,” Varric said, his voice sounding far away. “I thought the Seeker was going to throw me into the dungeons, I was so angry. But the Inquisitor said someone needed to lead the Wardens and that we needed them. She apologized for my loss, of course, but…” 

The two lapsed into silence and for a long moment the only sounds were the crackling flames. 

“I wish I could have told you in person,” Varric said, breaking the silence. 

“It is better that you did not,” Fenris admitted, remembering the clear, cold night he had gotten the letter. He had always considered Hawke teaching him to read one of her greatest gifts to him, but not in that moment. He still had the letter, though it was folded up deep within his things, along with Hawke's coat of arms. 

_There’s no easy way to tell you this, Fenris, so I’ll be brief. Hawke died yesterday to protect us all. I can’t give you details, they’re all classified and the Nightingale will destroy my letter if I do, but I know Hawke would want you to know. Our last night together we talked about you, about how much she hoped that she’d find you again when this is all over. She loved you more than anything._

The next sentence was smudged and Fenris knew that it was from Varric's tears. 

_I’m sorry that I couldn’t save her._

_Varric_

“I would have killed you,” Fenris said with cold certainty. “Had you shown up with that news, I would have killed you for letting her die.” 

Varric flinched, but nodded. 

“I prayed that night,” Fenris said, looking down at where Hawke’s scarf was still wrapped around his wrist. “For the first time...Sebastian would have been proud. I…” his voice broke. “I prayed to a god I do _not_ believe in that there was some awful mistake. That Hawke would come walking out of the ashes with a terrible joke and-and…” words failed him as the tears came and for the first time in a very long time, he let them come. Maybe it was because he could hear Varric’s soft sniffles from across the room and with Varric there the burden of grief didn’t feel quite so enormous and all-encompassing. 

“There’s no chance she lived?” he asked and heard the plaintive, child-like note of hope in his voice. 

But the hope died when Varric shook his head. “I saw her fall,” he whispered. “Just before the rift closed. I saw the Nightmare descend on her and she fell to her knees and I-” he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I thank the Maker every night that dwarves can’t dream,” he whispered raggedly. “Because I see it often enough in my waking hours.” 

“You should have stopped her,” Fenris said flatly, the rage bubbling up again at the image of his beloved Hawke dying alone so impossibly out of reach that he could not even go to where it had happened and build her a cairn. “You should have picked her up like you did every night she got too drunk to walk, slung her over your shoulder, and dragged her away.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Varric asked, halting the furious tumble of words that were threatening to pour from Fenris’ mouth like wasps from disturbed nest. “You think that I don’t lie awake every night reliving it? Do you think I liked writing you a fucking letter to tell you that the woman you loved was _gone_ in a way that-that...fuck, that is so _final_ that feels like there’s a hole in my chest that has just been sucking in air for the last five years?” He lurched to his feet with a grunt. “I loved her too, Fenris, maybe not in the same way, but I did, I _do_ , and I have to live the rest of my life with the guilt that maybe I could have saved her.” He jerked open his doublet, revealing chest hair with a fair sprinkling of gray in it. “So now that you’re here, just...do the thing. If Choir Boy is right, at least once you’re done...maybe I’ll see her again and I won’t have to feel so fucking guilty and _lonely_ anymore.” 

“You want me to kill you?” When he first had received the letter, that would have been easy, so great was his rage and pain. But now...hearing the familiar cadence of Varric’s words, seeing the pain the other man carried, the guilt, his anger had...not vanished, precisely, but receded to its usual levels. 

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Varric asked, his voice so dull and devoid of anything, well, Varric, that it broke something inside of Fenris. “So just...do it, Broody, so that I can finally have some peace and see my best friend again. So I can tell her in person, instead of just my prayers, that I’m so fucking sorry and-” he let out a little gasp as Fenris caught him in a tight embrace. 

Fenris felt his old friend’s arms go around him after a moment of shock and then Varric started sobbing, clinging to Fenris like a frightened child during a storm. Fenris let his own tears fall, albeit silently. 

He could see that Varric had been as broken by Hawke's death as he had and while it didn't fix the emptiness inside him, knowing that he wasn't alone lifted some tiny portion of the crushing weight. If it brought Varric the same solace, perhaps he would stay in Kirkwall for some time before beginning his search for the Dread Wolf in earnest. Varric spoke of him like he knew him, which at least gave him a starting point. Yes, soon he would do what he was good at and turn his grief into anger and let it be a grindstone to the jagged edges of his spirit, smoothing them down until they could be useful once more. Let the wolves meet, and time would tell if Fenris found a true purpose once again. 

But for now, for now he was content to let shared grief be his purpose. It was good to be home, if only for a little while.

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will write something that isn't sad, I promise. Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
